


Rescue

by Kaicielia



Series: Cheynne's Legacy [2]
Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: F/M, Hostage Situations, Love, Loyalty, Married Couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-20
Updated: 2015-05-20
Packaged: 2018-03-31 10:26:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3974659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaicielia/pseuds/Kaicielia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An accident leaves Cheynne at the mercy of others. Too bad those others have very little mercy to offer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rescue

**Author's Note:**

> This one still needs a lot of editing. After going through it and changing it from first person to third, I'm waiting to go through it again.

Hoth. The planet was all snow and rock and, apparently, precious gems and metals, and more snow and rock. No worthwhile species had ever called the place home and those that dare set foot on it did so either in an effort to acquire wealth or, more likely, as ordered for other important people to get rich.

Cheynne fell within the latter group, although the payout she expected would definitely be worth the trouble. The commander expected aid with problems he was having in exchange for the assistance required of him. Cheynne played the part of messenger for him the first day, expecting to have the job done quickly and get back to her own work, but ended up driving between outposts for hours. Taxi fees were eating up the pay and her rising temper convinced her crew she’d be better off working alone.

There was one run left to be made as the sun dipped below the horizon. Cheynne decided to take her personal speeder and make the run alone, a straight shot to the next outpost. The road was wide and open and the full moon lit the snow-covered landscape. She saw the lights of the outpost ahead and veered slightly to the left to cut the corner, flying over the softer snow and cutting many minutes off the trip. She tried identifying the dark shapes that filled the void between her and the outpost; the hulking shape of the walker off to the side, the droid and row of speeders at the taxi stand. 

The snow on one side dipped slightly and she adjusted her angle to avoid tipping the speeder. She came over the crest of the hill several meters further from the outpost than intended and, rather than landing on the path that ran around the back of the outpost, Cheynne found herself falling freely before crashing into a soft bank of snow and sliding onto the flat tundra.

Shocked, she lay still for a minute gathering her thoughts and taking in the lay of the land. The moon was hidden behind the ridge and the lights from the outpost shined over it, leaving her in shadow. The speeder pinned her legs in the snow; the noise of its engine was deafening, drowning out any sound that may offer further clues. She turned to test how well her legs were pinned and pain shot through her body. She returned to her back and, when the worst of the pain had passed, felt around the speeder resting across her lap. The pain radiated from the knee and lower leg on her right; the left felt to be uninjured.

Cheynne tried lifting the speeder with her force powers, but the slightest movement of the thing cause so much pain that her concentration was interrupted and it fell back. She let loose a long, high-pitched scream as the black spots that swam in her vision passed. The speeder’s engine took on a high pitched wail as the thing continued to run on its side. Cheynne hoped that the noise would bring someone from the outpost but doubted the sound could be heard over the wind that ceaselessly blew. She tried moving her good leg, pulling or scooting it out from under the speeder, but it was pinned as securely as the injured one.

She called out several times, when she thought she heard someone passing on the road, or when shadows interrupted the light overhead, or when the pain overwhelmed her. She began wondering if her mind was playing tricks on her, creating phantoms where there were none and preventing her from accessing her powers. As the cold began to creep into her arms and torso, she realized that the heat radiating off of the speeder was likely preserving her life; leaning in closer to it chased the cold from her upper body nearly as well as it warmed her lower. The night was young, however, and the temperature continued to plummet.

Heat from the speeder’s engine melted the snow around her legs, soaking into her clothing and causing her to shiver but also causing the pressure on her legs to ease slightly. She wiggled the uninjured leg back and forth, digging a hole in the wet snow around it. As she worked the weight of the speeder shifted, freeing the leg but causing the high pitched whine of the engine to stop. There was a second of silence and then a loud report as something in the machine blew. Small pieces of rubber and metal hit her face and scorching liquid poured over her injured leg. Cheynne’s scream cut through the dark night and her world went black.

It was still dark when she awoke but she could make out forms moving around her. Her wet clothing had gone stiff and the cold was beginning to penetrate her body, dulling the pain of her leg to a throbbing ache. The weight of the speeder lifted and hands grabbed her arms and pulled. She screamed as the pain intensified, but she was clear of the speeder when it was again dropped to the ground. A voice that she did not recognize told her to remain quiet and calm, that she would be OK. 

“Who are you?” She asked, but the form moved away before answering. She asked questions of several other people as they rushed about but no answers came forth. Finally someone kneeled down on her right. 

“We’re getting you out of here,” he said. His voice carried a strong accent that Cheynne didn’t recognize. “What is your name? Where are you coming from?”

“Cheynne,” She told him. “I was on my way to the base, just came over the ridge too soon.”

“Are you cold?” he asked, checking her over for other injuries. She realized then that the shivering had stopped. “Any other pain or injuries but the leg?”

Cheynne shook her head. “I need light.” She noticed the few small spots of light pointed to the ground as people walked around her. “I need to see my leg.”

“No light,” the man said. “Don’t want to attract any unwanted attention. Hoth is not a safe place, you know.”

Cheynne tried to remember where she had gone down. She couldn’t be that far from the outpost if she could make out the taxi droid before the crash. The closest pirate camp was well beyond the mountain rise, miles further down the road. She realized then the attention he was trying to avoid would be coming from the outpost; the men rescuing her were pirates.

She grabbed one of the lights as someone passed. The sudden movement brought pain to her injured leg and although her control was weakened, she felt the force move through her as she willed her body to follow commands. She shined the light in the man’s face. Bloodshot eyes with white irises met hers. “Who are you?” she asked again.

His lips split into a treacherous grin. His rotted teeth showed black and white in the artificial light. “I am the man who is saving your life,” he answered matter-of-factly. Another man, also with bloodshot white eyes, approached from behind him carrying a small box. “If you’d like, we can leave you here to die.” The second man set the box he carried on the ground and the two began to rifle through it.

Cheynne looked around her. She didn’t know what she was looking for; a friendly face, her light saber, another option. She thought to Andronikos’ stories of piracy and realized they had assumed her dead and her belongings free for the taking. Her survival could mean a possible ransom, slave or fatal loose end for the pirates. The man in front of her took a syringe out of the box and began measuring doses from several small bottles the other handed to him.

When the syringe was ready with whatever cocktail he had mixed he approached Cheynne with it. “Like I said, just calm down, remain quiet and we’ll….” His body jolted as she hit him with lightening. The man behind him fell back, escaping the shocks as his companion reached out for him and looking on in horror as smoke rose from the body and filled his nostrils. The lightening lit the area and Cheynne saw the eyes of at least a score more people turn to look. Several of these began to run toward her, so she turned the lightening on them. Two more fell before she felt a sharp pain in her head and lost consciousness.

She was surprised to wake again, as her eyes took in a large stone room some time later. There was light at the end furthest with a group of people gathered around it. She was lying on the stone floor; bars embedded into the stone around her formed one end of the room into a series of cells.

She surveyed her injuries but little could be seen in the dim light. Red blood and black fluid soaked her skirts. As the cold air hit her bare legs she again began to shiver, reigniting the pain. Her right leg was swollen and turned at an unnatural angle so she reached down to it, lightly running fingers over it. The skin was red and blistered where it was burned and white and leathery where it was not, but the pain did not originate from there. Her knee had ballooned up to twice its size and there was an open wound in her shin between metal bars that acted as a makeshift splint, likely where the broken bones beneath had torn through. As she reviewed her injuries, she heard a voice to the side.

“Look like they got you good.”

Cheynne turned to see an older, slight man in rags lying against the stone wall behind her. “It was a speeder accident. Don’t give these animals more credit than they deserve.” She noted a brief flash of anger cross his face at the comment.

His look changed to one of confusion. “They got you easy?” He laughed and she noted that his teeth matched those of the man she had killed outside. He stood and paced the floor, moving much too easily for an old prisoner locked in a cage.

“Oh, I took my fair share,” Cheynne assured him. She tested her connection to the force and doubted she’d be able to summon much power before a good deal more rest. “Don’t know why they kept me alive, my crew will be looking for me.”

“Crew?” His smile widened. “Maybe your crew pay for you back.”

“Maybe,” she answered.

Two people from the group across the room began to walk toward them. As they approached, the old man went to the door of the cell. “She captain.” He gripped the bars and spoke through them. “She have ship, crew.”

“Good,” The darker haired man said. They opened the door and made their way in, allowing the older man to leave, and kneeled down on opposite sides of Cheynne. “You really did a number on yourself.” Darkhair reached out for the injured leg and Cheynne flinched, sending a wave of agony though her body and leaving black spots in her vision.

“You need to relax,” the sandy haired man told her. The look on his face was hard as he maneuvered to begin inventorying Cheynne’s injuries. “So which ship is yours?”

“Settled Scores,” she told him, indicating the ship’s official designation. “Fury class. Just docked yesterday.” She watched as his hands feathered over her injuries, bracing herself for any pain they may cause.

“And your crew,” Darkhair added, watching as the other man worked. “How many? Who should we contact to come get you?”

Cheynne’s mind raced. Andronikos was well known for piracy and had left more than a few enemies behind him; she was sure his name would bring recognition in this crowd. “Ashara Zavros,” she said to him. A message to her would catch the entire crew’s attention. “She should be there. Tell her to get a message to the pilot.”

“Why don’t we send a message to the pilot?” Sandy asked. His hands began to wander her body, well further than medically necessary.

“He’s likely swimming in a cantina somewhere. If you want to search the planet for him you’re welcome to.”

“No, this is fine.” Darkhair answered. “And how many crew do you have?”

“A couple dozen,” she began, but the words turned into a scream as Sandy’s hand clamped around the fractured bones. Cheynne tried pulling her leg away but the move only intensified the pain, so she locked her muscles in place to avoid any unnecessary movement. Sparks ran through her body but there wasn’t enough energy to defend herself from the men.

His hand released and Cheynne heard his voice through the fog of pain. “A fury doesn’t sleep more than a dozen, try again.”

Cheynne glared at him, imagining a thousand painful deaths. She wanted nothing more than to bury her light saber in his belly and watch as he tried to hold his entrails. She leaned forward. “You will die for that one,” she told him. He squeezed the injured leg again, eliciting another cry of pain.

“Crew?”

“Seven,” she answered him through clenched teeth. “Including the droid and me, there are seven of us.”

“Very good,” he said, releasing her legs and cupping her face in his hands. He ran his fingers through her hair and down her back. “And your first mate is Ashara Zavros. How about the rest of your crew?”

“Well, there’s the monster,” Cheynne began when someone else called out from the door of the room. Darkhair stood.

“The accident’s been discovered. Republic’s combing the area now.”

Sandy turned his body slightly to face the voice. “Are they able to track us?”

“It doesn’t appear so.”

“Hopefully the burnt bodies throw them off.” He looked back to Cheynne and surprised her with a kiss full on the mouth. “I should thank you for killing my medic.”

She spit in his face. 

He stared daggers into her for several tense seconds before rising to his feet. “Maybe I should keep you for myself. I would have you begging for a kiss.” The two snickered and turned to leave the cell. 

 

People came and went throughout the next several hours but the room remained full and lively with the two men who seemed to be in charge directing all action. Cheynne continued to shiver in the cold room until her clothes dried and finally her muscles relaxed. She was tossed scraps of food and one man found pleasure in offering ale in single sips. She nodded off to sleep on several occasions. Pain may have kept her put, but she could feel energy returning to her body.

Sandy returned, trailed by a line of frail looking men and women. “Looks like you’ve got a rescuer coming,” he said as he unlocked the door. “We’ve got to get you looking presentable.” He stepped aside as two men brought in a chair and lifted Cheynne into it none too gently. The rest walked in, pouring water over her and washing and brushing her. When they were done her wrists were bound and she was tied to the chair as if she was capable of running off at any time and a blanket was thrown over her legs. The room was cleared of all but Sandy, Darkhair and two others who appeared to be chosen for no reason other than their enormous size.

The ruckus in the room calmed and the four men sat at the table, eating and talking. Cheynne dropped her chin to her chest and concentrated on the feel of energy building up. More food and rest would do a world of good, but she knew she wouldn’t be getting much of either before she had need to fight so she concentrated on focusing every bit of energy she had, keeping her reserves ready.

It was another two hours before the far door opened and two people walked in. Cheynne barely registered the noise as she sat on the edge of consciousness. Her eyes focused; another massively large man leading a smaller one shrouded in a cloak and hood.

Sandy rose to his feet. “Welcome. I imagine you’ve come to collect your captain.”

“I have,” the smaller man answered, and it thrilled Cheynne to hear Andronikos’ voice.

“You have the ransom?” Sandy smiled and reached for the case as it was handed to him. He set it on the table and motioned toward the cell. “You can see to her while we count.”

Andronikos walked slowly across the room, the man who had escorted him in following closely. When he got to the cell door he stopped and stood passively while it was unlocked. Cheynne looked up to him, her face clearly expressing rage. A smile of anticipation played on his lips.

When the door was open he walked in and knelt in front of her. “You OK?” he asked.

“I can’t walk,” she told him, motioning to the blanket on her lap. “I don’t know why they bothered tying me.”

“Why can’t you walk?” He glanced back quickly and, seeing the man at the door watching those at the table, scooted closer. Under his breath, he added, “Can you fight?”

“I’ve no blade, but the force is returning to me.”

He carefully removed the blanket and lifted her skirts. His face blanched and then flushed with hot anger. He cut the bindings on Cheynne’s wrists and handed the knife to her.

She leaned forward. “There were more people in here earlier, are they out that door?”

“No. Out that door is an empty cave with a path directly to the main road. The main camp is across the way, out of sight.”

“Very good,” Sandy’s voice called out and chairs scraped the stone floor. “Although, you came up with this quickly enough. I should have asked for more.”

“I want that one,” Cheynne told Andronikos. 

His smile returned. He pulled a blaster pistol out of a boot as he rose, concealing it in the sleeve of his cloak, and turned away. “You have everything, there is nothing more.” 

The group continued to approach. “You expect us to believe that?” Darkhair asked.

“Oh, this is good enough.” Sandy rested a hand on his companion’s shoulder. “Wasn’t like we were expecting anything today, so anything we get is bonus.”

“Nice bonus,” Darkhair said and flipped a coin in the air. They gathered around the door to the cell. “So, these guys can carry her to whatever transport you brought and you can take her anywhere you wish.”

Andronikos stepped aside and allowed two of the big men to enter unhindered. When they were standing on either side of Cheynne she said, “You might want to duck first.”

Five sets of eyes turned as Andronikos dropped to the ground. Cheynne thrust the knife into the belly of one of the big men and released a wave of kinetic energy that threw everyone standing to the ground. Of the five, only three returned to their feet after the blast; the big man with the knife in his belly lay bleeding on the floor and Darkhair lay against a wall, his head turned at an unnatural angle. The other big man in the cell returned to his feet faster than Cheynne thought possible and swung his arm in a wide arc, throwing her and the chair into the stone wall. Her scream was drowned out by a point blank shot to his head. 

“Sith?” Andronikos’ voice was low, dangerous.

“Alive,” Cheynne said, doing her best to block out the pain. She heard his blaster shoot off a couple more times as she moved the broken pieces of the chair out of the way. She could see the last two men outside the cell, hiding behind their overturned table. Grabbing a blaster that had fallen, she aimed low to the edge of the table. She fired several times and the last of the big men, caught by surprise, leapt up and away. 

As soon as Andronikos had a clear shot he took it and all at once Sandy was on his own.

“You… you can have your money back.” His weak voice croaked as it called out from behind the table.

“Huh.” Andronikos stood and pulled his hood back, revealing the distinctive tattoo that adorned the left side of his shaved head. He dodged another shot as the man vainly fought for his life. Cheynne summoned a force shield to protect him as he closed the distance and two more blaster shots were absorbed harmlessly. Sandy stood and backed away, losing all composure when he recognized the pirate standing before him.

“Andro….” He began. His eyes searched the room frantically. “I didn’t know.” His backward motion was cut short by the stone wall behind him. “I never.… If I’d have known….”

“Uh-huh.” Andronikos grabbed him by the neck of his shirt and roughly pulled him from the wall, grabbing an overturned chair as he led him to the cell. He set the chair up and sat the man in it. Holding the blaster inches from his face, he ordered, “Don’t move.”

Sandy answered by whimpering and releasing his bladder.

Andronikos moved the guard chair in front of the cell so that it faced the man. 

“I told you,” Sandy cried again, his eyes pleading. “If I’d have known, I never would have….”

“Just one problem,” Andronikos interrupted as he entered the cell. He kneeled down and wrapped an arm around Cheynne, pinning her body to his, and rose. Her hair stood on end as pain threatened to overwhelm her; instinct calling forth her reserves to protect herself. “I’m not the one who wants to kill you.” 

He sat Cheynne in the other chair and Sandy leaned forward, hands reaching out in desperation. “I’m sor….” he began, but a quick backhand from Andronikos had him sprawled out on the floor. 

“I said don’t move.” Andronikos returned and tended to Cheynne for a while longer, well longer than was necessary, wicked smile wide on his face. He smoothed her skirts and wiped grime from her face as Sandy lay still on the floor, not daring to disobey again.

“Here he is,” Andronikos said in a low voice, “all silver platter like.” Sandy whimpered again and Cheynne mirrored Andronikos’ smile. He returned to the man and grabbed him by his collar, lifting him and again setting him roughly in the chair. 

“I have a problem here,” Andronikos told him. “The wife now believes that I cannot properly protect her. She feels vulnerable and needs to prove to herself that she is safe.”

“W…wife? I didn’t….” He stared at Cheynne, then his wide eyes darted back to Andronikos. “Please,” he begged.

He was met by another hit as Andronikos growled, “Not to me,” and pointed the pistol at his head.

Sandy’s composure returned slightly and he again looked to Cheynne. “Whatever you want,” he told her. “Credits, ships, weapons.” Cheynne shook her head and he turned to again appeal to Andronikos, but his eyes fell on the barrel still pointed in his direction. “What do you want,” he asked, desperation again causing his voice to crack. “Name it, whatever you want.”

Cheynne rested her elbows on the arms of the chair and leaned forward slightly. She curled one finger, beckoning him closer. Confused, he looked to Andronikos for permission but saw that the man was walking away to retrieve the ransom and whatever other useful items could be found. Sandy looked back and slowly leaned forward. 

When their faces were close Cheynne whispered, “I think I’ll take that kiss now.” He screwed up his eyebrows and his mouth hung open. She grabbed the back of his head and locked her lips onto his. He remained still for a second before feeling a weight press on his chest, his life draining from his body. He tried pulling back, but she closed her fingers in his hair and locked him in place. 

He began to struggle in earnest, pushing and kicking instinctively. Each movement brought a shock of pain but Cheynne directed the energy to her attack. She broke the embrace and pulled back before he was dead. He vainly fought for breath, the attack preventing his lungs from drawing air, and she derived perverse pleasure watching his struggle. Lightening ran up her arm and caused his body to convulse momentarily. She shocked him again, feeling the attack weaken as the energy she’d saved up was spent, before she released him again to his panicked struggle.

Cheynne felt a hand on her shoulder and looked up. Andronikos’ eyes had softened, his rage played out on the roomful of men, and she found her own vengeance sated. Supporting her weight on the side of her shattered leg, he helped her rise and they left the room, the final death throes of the man playing out behind them.


End file.
